Travelling Light

While Harald vacuumed the living-room, Kristine threw out most of the contents of the refrigerator and wiped the top of the stove. He cleaned the bathroom; she vacuumed the bedrooms. She then showered, changed into her blue shorts and flowered blouse and took the subway to the sculpture park.

Harald had loaned her a guidebook, so she knew as she went through the wrought-iron gates that the park contained dozens of sculptures by Gustav Vigeland. However, the photos in the book had not prepared her for the reality.

She walked across the bridge with its monumental bronze figures, wandered through the rose garden, and listened to the splash of water from the great fountain upheld by six nude men. Human figures entwined with trees surrounded the fountain, figures from youth to old age, male and female, an inescapable cycle of endings and beginnings. Huge granite carvings stood in massive silence on the steps that led up to the monolith where she was to meet Lars. The monolith itself was more than she could bear, so full of energy and life force were its contorted forms.

She hurried back to the rose garden, knowing if she had any sense she would drive back to Sweden that very afternoon. Instead she listened to a young girl play Mozart on the violin by one of the parapets on the bridge, and put a coin she could ill afford in the open case on the ground. Near one of the ponds she ate the sandwich she had made at Harald’s. Then she looked at her watch. Quarter to three. She’d better go.